


Kenopsia

by freidacay



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, F/M, Married Couple, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Rating May Change, Travel, floweypot - Freeform, look out for clues, tra la la beware the woman who is bad at tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:45:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freidacay/pseuds/freidacay
Summary: Kenopsia:n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet—a school hallway in the evening, an unlit office on a weekend, vacant fairgrounds—an emotional afterimage that makes it seem not just empty but hyper-empty, with a total population in the negative, who are so conspicuously absent they glow like neon signs.





	1. Flexibility, Love, and Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my buddy Anubis for looking over this and catching my mistakes (and also telling me that it wasn't trash)

When Sans first mentions the idea of visiting the Underground, you’re more than a little surprised. Generally, he speaks of it with an air of faint distaste, his ever-present grin faltering just the smallest bit. You hadn’t faulted him for it, really—though some monsters you met would admit that they missed the place sometimes, you also understand why some others would never want to return. Sans was one of them. You understood. You’ve never been struck with the desire to return to your own hometown, which holds a mess of bad memories that you’d left behind on the first day of college. They’re not quite comparable, but you’ve always been sympathetic.

He catches you off guard with his question, while you’re both preparing for your day. He tilts his chin up as you finish his tie, knowing good and well that he’ll loosen it, maybe even take it off by the day’s end. His students often joke about the scandalousness of his bare collarbones.

“You sure about that, hon? It’s… well, I’m surprised.” You say, running a hand up and down his arm. The rumpled fabric of his button-up shirt is smooth underneath your palm regardless. He’s always managed to balance the not-quite unprofessional look well, handsome in his own right. You take a moment to appreciate the unique visage of your strange little husband, with his piercing gaze and permanent smile.

He smiles at you, rests his forehead briefly on your shoulder. There are advantages to being nearly the exact same height. The miniscule difference between your heights is something he playfully lords over you often.

“Yeah, well,” he says, huffing a warm breath into your skin, “I got a lot to think about. Stuff to wrap up. People to say goodbye to.”

“I thought everybody left after the barrier was broken?” You venture, smiling at him when he pulls away.

His expression shutters for a moment.

“Not everybody,” He says, cryptically.

“Do you want me to go with you?” You ask.

“Yeah.” There’s an almost tangible relief in his voice, and you realize with a small start that he’d probably been meaning to ask you this anyway, and was afraid that you would refuse.

“Sans, I’ve told you over and over that you’re stuck with me, alright? It’s a good thing we’re on break, though.” You add, mostly to yourself. Vet school is not exactly forgiving when it comes to missing work.

He nods, leans in for a kiss, and then whispers that he’ll see you later. You wave, and he throws up a hand before teleporting, a leaving behind a small distortion in the air—like the kind you see above an open flame—that experience tells you will fade before the hour is over.

There’s plenty you could do today, but you settle for sending Sans a flurry of loving texts, getting dressed, and heading for Toriel’s house. On the walk, Sans responds with a few texts of his own.

_ aw you’re too good to me baby girl _

_ have a good day too ily _

_ my kids are saying they want you to bake them some cookies again because their midterm exam is coming up _

_ and i mean thats not the worst suggestion in the world but i cant tell you what to do ;) _

A worry you hadn’t known you’d been feeling fades. You can practically hear Sans’ voice, deep and soothing, with the teasing lilt that enters it when he’s feeling especially playful. You won’t be apart for long, but you miss him already.

\--

“Hey, you.”

Flowey is not the most pleasant company. When you’d seen him, nestled in Frisk’s lap as they complete their homework, you’d been quick to beg Toriel to let you help her with breakfast. She refused, much to your chagrin.

Frisk adores the little flower monster, because of course they do, and you admit that he has his moments where his attitude is not completely horrible. This is likely not one of those moments. You wonder if you can get away with ignoring him, but there are only three people in Toriel’s living room, and Frisk is the only person Flowey ever addresses by name.

“I know you can hear me. Hey, listen! Smiley Trashwife!” He hisses, cowering just the smallest bit when Frisk gives him a sharp glance. In the early days, he’d be met with a spray of water to the face. Not harmful in the least, especially considering his unique physiology, but he’s easily annoyed and was once frustrated to tears by repeated sprays to the face. He’s not unlike a child, though you don’t really know how old he is.

“Yes, Flowey?” You ask, looking up.

“Toriel told me you and Mr. Trashbag are visiting the Underground.”

“We are,” you say, patiently. Frisk gives you a surprised look, which tells you that Toriel did not, in fact, tell Flowey this. She would have told Frisk first.

“Did she.” You deadpan, raising a brow. Frisk signs a quick No, looking disappointed in Flowey for his snooping. How he managed to do so, you have no idea. What does pique your interest is the confirmation that this is something Sans has been thinking about for a time, if he spoke to Toriel about it before mentioning it to you. She is his dearest friend.

Flowey has the grace to look regretful for about point five seconds. Then his trademark grin is back on his face.

“Word of advice? When you’re down there, you might feel like somebody is watching you. If you get that feeling, they probably are.” He says, smile turning brittle.

You ask him to explain. He responds with his fake-pleasant smile. It’s adorable, really, all buck teeth and bright eyes, but you know better. Frisk shakes their head at you, looking apologetic. You wave them off. When Toriel brings in the plates, breakfast is spent in silence. Toriel quickly picks up on the tension in the air. When you’re done, you thank her for the food and she extracts a promise from you to return, placing a motherly hand on your head. You don’t know how to feel.

\--

The thing is, the feeling of being watched isn’t quite new to you. You’d noticed it sometime after you first met Sans, and that’d been nearly five years ago now. It’s never really bothered you, is what you tell yourself, but it’s hard for you to sleep without the covers pulled over your head, and you never sit with your back facing open space. There are days when the shadows look like they’re shifting, and you feel like you can hear a distant murmur in the silences in between conversation. You’d told Sans about it, once, and he’d made you promise to tell him if you ever felt unsafe. You wouldn’t call it that, not exactly, but it’s not the most pleasant feeling, either. You wonder if Flowey has ever felt this way, if he’s ever been the thing that’s hiding just out of reach. Feeling especially unwilling to be alone, you drift between the houses of your odd little family.

Undyne gives you a noogie fit to set a migraine ablaze beneath your temples, but you endure it, because violence and loud words are how she shows affection. Alphys asks after Sans, as she always does. Not for the first time, you wonder exactly what the relationship between the two of them is. Watching them speak, they’re always hesitant, skirting around a topic that’s never really been hinted at, but you know it’s there. Papyrus, who affectionately calls you “Sister” and enjoys telling you about his day, insists that he be allowed to help in your latest baking endeavor. Once he’d been convinced to give spaghetti a break, you’d learned that he’s a surprisingly good cook all around, if overly enthusiastic. Napstablook allows you to listen to their latest mix, and promises to send along a message of goodwill to Mettaton, who is on tour. Asgore pours you a cup of tea, and the two of you chatter as you work in the garden. It feels good to work with the plants, to get your hands dirty and learn a thing or two about the types of flowers that grow underground. Transplantation of echo flowers to the surface has been a success. Asgore’s garden calls “Come back soon, my dear” as you walk away from his little house at the end of the street.

When you’d first started to date Sans, you’d been so amused by the little neighborhood he and his friends had carved out for themselves, houses lined next to each other, a listening ear always within walking distance. They had all welcomed you with open arms, curious and understandably cautious about you, about your life, and your soul (kindness, Asgore had said, a most verdant green, and that had gone a long way towards softening them to you). Now, years later, it’s hard to imagine not living in this row of houses. By the time you return to your own, it’s nearly dark. Sans is waiting for you, and he wordlessly folds you into his arms after you shut the door.

\--

You crash Sans’ class as it’s nearing closing time, a few days later. The students whisper greetings at you, and even though you’ve been married for a year now, it still feels odd to be referred to as “Mrs. Gaster”. You grin at them, jingling the Tupperware of homemade cookies, and their eyes light up. Sans winks at you as you make your way over to his desk.

“…And that’s pretty much the only reason monsters don’t like to show people their socks. Pretty silly, am I right? Anyway, isn’t my wife pretty? Reblog if you agree.” Sans jokes, and you mime tossing your hair over your shoulder and give his students a coquettish smile over your shoulder. There is a ripple of laughter throughout the room.

“Reblog,” One girl says, with considerable relish, waggling her eyebrows. Anna. She’s an unfairly funny kid. One of Sans’ favorites. More laughter.

“Alright, you hellions. More cookies. Don’t tell the 1A class that you got peanut butter.” You say, and the class lets out a cheer as they descend upon Sans’ desk. You cheerfully accept their thanks. You turn to Sans.

“Hey, you.” He murmurs.

“Hey, yourself.” You flirt. His grin widens. You give him a kiss on the cheek, laughing at the dramatic way he clutches his chest.

“Ugh, stop,” a boy yells.

“Yeah. We’re teenagers. You’re old and it’s kind of gross.” Another adds.

“One of these old people just made you some pretty awesome cookies.” Sans points out.

“Yeah, shut up, Derrick! Mrs. Gaster’s the best,” Someone hollers.

You muffle your laughter behind your hand. As the chatter dies down and the kids break off into their usual groups, you perch yourself on Sans’ desk. He pulls his chair up to the desk, and you watch as he begins to grade the midterm exams of his AP Monster History class. Once upon a time, you’d thought that Sans was better suited to be a professor, but you’ve learned why he teaches at the High School level. Sans loves kids. He’s good with them. He genuinely enjoys helping them learn—you’ve seen this much by watching him interact with Frisk.

“So, I’ve been giving our trip some more thought. Are you sure you’re ready? To go back, I mean.”

He pauses, scratches away at a paper with his blue gel pen. His gaze meets yours, and he nods, slowly.

“Well, yeah,” He shrugs, returning to the paper before him. “Wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna like it, though.”

You nod in understanding.

“Are you ready?” He asks you.

You hum, “For the most part, yeah. I want to see where you grew up. I’m just a little nervous, is all.”

“You’ll be safe with me.” He promises, completely sincere. You feel a rush of affection, and cup his face, running your thumb briefly over his cheekbone. You neglect to tell him that it’s not your safety that you’re worried about.

There’s a comfortable lull in your conversation. This class is Sans’ smallest, and they’re naturally inquisitive. They drift around the room, occasionally stopping by to ask questions. Sans deflects the especially unsubtle questions about their exams (“Hal, I promise you I’m not gonna read those essays right now, so don’t even ask, bud.”) and watches with amused interest as you answer questions about college, and Vet School, and the life you share at home. You know most of these kids by face if not by name, so it’s nice to speak with them, to watch them interact.

When the bell rings, the kids are visibly disappointed, but this doesn’t stop them from packing up as fast as possible. The Christmas break is the longest, and they’re probably eager to get it started. They dash to the front of the room to retrieve extra cookies, bid you and Sans goodbye, and soon enough, you’re alone.

“You ready to go home?” You ask, stretching. Sans bobs his head in reply.

He gathers his own things up, locks the door with a flick of his fingers, and then grabs your hand. The both of you are gone.

\--

The plan is to spend a week in the Underground.

“We’ll make our way through the whole of the place by Saturday, easy.” Sans says, swiping his hand over a map of the Underground.

You want to say that surely it can’t be small enough for the two of you to make it through in a week, but you stop yourself. Maybe Sans plans to use his magic to cut corners. Maybe the humans of the past really didn’t force an entire race into such a cramped prison.

“What are we going to do?” You ask, running your thumb over the back of his hand. You rest your chin on his shoulder, your other arm wrapped around his waist. Whatever mysterious magic he possesses always fills him out, when he wears clothing, and when he’s free of those clothes it rarely feels like he’s made of simply bones and magic. He heaves a big sigh, moving the both of you with the weight of it.

“Explore, I guess. I want to see if I can find a few things. Also, I guess it’ll be, like… saying goodbye. After this I don’t ever plan on going back. I can, uh, store most of our gear with magic. So just carry your backpack, I guess? Or I can carry yours for you. Toriel gave me this master key—not asking how she got that, by the way—that we can use to get into most places, but locking doors wasn’t really something you did often in the Underground, if you can believe it, with all that cramping. Unless you lived in the city…”

He continues on, and you listen with rapt attention, completely fascinated. Even though he has been going about this with a sort of resigned sadness, like he was preparing to do something he had to do but wasn’t particularly happy about, it’s easy to see the hint of nostalgia settle into his features. You think that this trip will be good for Sans. You’re glad you’ll be able to be there for him throughout.

“Sans,” You say, when his words start to slur and his sockets droop. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Mm, you trying to seduce me?” He leers, and even though there’s genuine interest in his eyes, you’re both too tired to do much else than shower and sleep.

“Alright, buster. Up you get.” You giggle. He laughs along with you, deep voice gravelly with tiredness.

There will be more time to think on this in the morning. You just hope you’re making the right decision.


	2. Movement In Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leftover mistakes are mine and should be pointed out as usual!

Sans spends the next week or so preparing for the trip. Papyrus is invited to house sit, and you just know your house is going to be filled with various artwork featuring bones, and also real, actual bones. You adore him.

Mettaton arrives in your little neighborhood with all of his usual fanfare, his limousine trailing glitter as a usual. He makes his rounds around the neighborhood, bending down to greet you with a kiss on the cheek when at last he reaches your house. Sans, he playfully flicks on his boney forehead. He curiously eyes the scribbled notes that Sans has left out on every hard surface, and though you catch the odd glint in his eyes, he refrains from commenting. You know he must have read every single word, though.

In the end, the family hosts a small party to celebrate your trip. A few years ago you would have found it odd, but now you simply greet it with a surprised laugh when you return from work to see them settled in your living room.

“Woah, what a surprise.” Sans says, sounding amused but not actually surprised at all.

“Would you like some par..tea?” Asgore asks, lips twitching. Toriel lets out a surprised laugh. Sans snickers. You graciously accept his offered cup, taking a hearty sip. Oolong. Delicious. Asgore is the best at brewing.

“Don’t get me started, Fluffybuns,” Sans warns.

“Please don’t.” Flowey begs, as the two of you make your way over.

“Ahh, Flowey. I’ll miss you least of all.” you say. The flower sneers at you. When Frisk approaches, you bend down and smile at him.

“I’ll keep what you said in mind.” You tell him. His brows raise, and with some small delight you realize you’ve caught him off guard. You give him a quick kiss on the cheek and he screeches in outrage. You do the same to Frisk, who playfully makes as if to chase your lips when you pull away.

“Hands off my woman, you libertine,” Sans says, ruffling Frisk’s hair on the way to the kitchen. You can smell something delicious wafting from within. You hear Papyrus shout a greeting at Sans (“And hello to you, too, sister!” he adds). You wonder what he’s cooking. He’s gotten so much better at it. Sometimes, you miss the days where he still lived with the two of you, of waking up to finding him cooking something or other in the morning. His experiments weren’t always edible, but they were always appreciated.

Undyne beckons you over to the couch. There’s a game of Scramble going between her, Mettaton (who gives you an exaggerated wink and kisses your hand when you draw near), Alphys, and Frisk’s excitable little monster friend. You can never remember their real name—everyone calls them Monster Kid anyways—and you always feel a little bad for that. Somehow they’re assembling their words by holding the game pieces between their teeth. You bet Flowey has been having a field day and a half with that.

“What’s up, punk? You ready for your first trip Underground?!” Undyne asks.

“First and last, if Sans has anything to say about it. He says he doesn’t ever want to go back.” You say, quietly.

Alphys shifts. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“I think so. I think this will probably be good for him. I’m just hoping that I can help by being there.”

Alphys looks a little sad. “Yeah. You probably will.”

Eventually, the little game is broken up and everyone is moved into the dining room. Toriel and Papyrus hand out the plates. There’s lasagna, your favorite, and Toriel has reheated a pie she apparently baked the night before. You sit next to Sans and he takes your hand, pressing the back of your palm to his teeth in lieu of a kiss. Then he squeezes your hand and holds it under the table. He gives you a playful wink and then your chair is scooting closer to his, the familiar play of his magic tingling over your skin. You let out a small shriek, which causes everyone to glance at you in confusion. You burst into embarrassed giggles, and they laugh as well. Frisk, who had been watching you the whole time, signs the word “smooth” at you. You roll your eyes.

Conversation comes easy, as it always does. You hear so many stories they start to blend. Asgore found a small monster child snooping around in his garden. One of Toriel’s school children called her “mom” and then promptly burst into embarrassed tears. Mettaton is to start filming his next movie soon. Flowey succeeded in not making a toddler cry. Undyne continues to bench press children. Alphys is going to allow humans to work with her in the lab. Frisk flirted their way out of a write-up. It’s this kind of talk that you long for, when they day is long and your vision is blurry. You’ve never had this kind of community back home, and years ago, while you were still there, you never would have guessed you’d find it amongst such colorful people.

“So,” Flowey says, tinny voice somehow loud enough to cut through the excited murmurs of the people seated at your dining table. “The Underground. Again. That doesn’t sound fun.”

_ You didn’t want to leave when I came to get you _ , Frisk signs, seemingly unbothered by the abrupt silence that has descended upon the table.

“Shut up, Frisk.” Flowey says, still smiling.

Toriel gives him a chiding look, and he rolls his little black eyes theatrically. Sans nods.

“What will you do?” Asgore asks.

“Just,” Sans sighs. “Say goodbye, I guess? Believe it or not, Paps and I left in kind of a hurry. I left some things down there. And I don’t wanna have to make trips, so, magic.”

Papyrus squawks in surprise. “You’re going to use your magic, brother? Won’t you be tired?”

You nod your agreement and give Sans an expectant look. You had thought about how much he plans to use his magic on this trip. You’ve seen just what overuse of his magic can do to him, and you don’t think you want to see it ever again.

“Nope,” Sans says, in a tone that brokers no argument. “Anybody got anything they want us to pick up while we’re there?”

Nobody says anything. You feel like you’re missing a vital piece of information.

\--

The next morning, everyone sees you off as you’re about to leave. Frisk rushes up and gives you a tight hug. You hug them back, laughing as they rock you back and forth. They nearly lift you off of your feet. At fourteen, they’ve grown amazingly tall, long-limbed, reedy, and surprisingly strong. Comparing their five foot ten inches to your average five foot four, you feel quite small.

“Calm down, kiddo. You’re acting like we’ll never come back.” You say, when they release you. They tuck a strand of their hair behind their ear, unable to hide the worried look on their face.

_ Just be careful, I guess! And if you see a snowman, tell him I said hi, that I hope he’s okay, and that I still have his piece.  _ Frisk signs, rapidly. You laugh and kiss their cheek. They hug Sans next, giving him much the same treatment. He’s precisely one inch taller than you, so you feel a bit better about your own short stature.

_ Visiting your old hot dog stand for your condiments? I bet they’re still there! Get some hot cats, too. You can balance them on my head again.  _ Frisk signs. There’s a spattering of laughter from the rest of the group. Papyrus lets out a put-upon sigh.

Sans chuckles. “You’ll have to kneel down for that, kid. You’re not exactly so little anymore.”

Frisks laughs their silent laugh, but it’s not hard to see the worry bleed back into their expression. They hide it well, but you’ve known them for quite a time.

It’s like everyone had decided as a group that they were going to line up and smother you with affection. By the time you’re done, your cheeks are flush and you feel especially warm. You wrap your arms around Sans’, and he pauses to playfully rustle you with a jerk of his elbow before he waves at everyone. You feel like the world is tipping upside down. Your first and last trip to the Underground begins today.

\--

You end up at the entrance of the place. In the years since the exodus, a decorative plaque has been placed at both the entrance and the exit of the mountain that housed monsterkind.

“The fall is pretty steep. Agh, I should have just used magic to go in.” Sans tsks.

“Why didn’t you?” You ask.

“Not quite ready. Plus, there’s. Well, it’s really hard to explain, but I don’t want to land there. Toriel asked me to stop by, though.” Sans says, looking tired already.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask, worried. He nods, stroking your hair absently. He’s usually warm day ‘round, but the ambient temperature of this place seems to have seeped into his bones. The tips of his fingers are chilled when they graze against your skin, and you shiver, moving into his touch. You try not to stare too hard at the swirling darkness of the opening nearby. Something about its depths is beckoning, and you wonder briefly what Frisk felt, when they approached this place for the first time, as a scared little child without a place to call home.

At length, Sans steels his shoulders. He glances up at the sky, at the sunlight breaking in through the forest canopy as if memorizing the sight.

“Hold on tight.” He murmurs. You hold his hand, close your eyes, and brace yourself for the uncomfortable feeling of his magic.

When you open your eyes, you’re standing before a bed of flowers. You’ve seen flowers much like this—you’re pretty sure that Flowey is supposed to be some sort of copy of these flowers, and Asgore grows them in his garden. Toriel keeps some of them pressed between the books she reads, and when she looks at them, her eyes always soften, like she’s remembering something. You feel an odd sense of reverence here, standing by this bed of flowers. You also feel like you’re being watched.

Sans pulls something from his pocket. It’s a teddy bear, threadbare and missing an eye. He places it where the flowers grow the thickest, and bows his head. Memory hits you with a jolt. You don’t know much about the children that Asgore and Toriel lost, having only heard snippets of it in stilted conversation and quiet references from other monsters. If Toriel asked Sans to take this with him, then—

“Sorry, kid.” He says.

For some reason, you feel like crying. Sans gives you a soft look at the low whine that rises in your throat, and you press your face into his shoulder and grieve for the child you never met. When the two of you eventually depart, holding hands as you make your way through a looming archway, you can feel eyes boring into your back.

\--

The Ruins seem huge. There’s an eeriness in the utter silence of the place, in the way your voice echoes with every word spoken.

“What exactly is this place?” You ask Sans, voice hushed. You aren’t eager to hear your own question bounced back at you.

“It’s. Um, when monsters first got down here? This is where everybody stayed. Our numbers were a lot smaller, after the war, so we kinda idled here for a few years until things got crowded. I’m kinda curious, is all. I’ve never seen the whole thing. I was born right after we started moving into different areas of the Underground.” Sans answers. You make a mental note to ask when that was.

The two of you pause over a balcony, stare out into the rows and rows of thin, tall buildings. It’s dark, but there’s just enough light for you to be able to make them all out. You think they’re crumbling; you can hear the occasional creak and groan of rubble and old supports.

“This is home. As in, it’s called Home. Fluffybuns is literally the worst at names.” Sans laughs.

“Give him a break. He’s old.” You say, giggling into his collar. He laughs even harder at that.

Eventually, you stop by what Sans tells you is Toriel’s old home. The dark tree in the path leading up to the little house, with its skeletal branches and blood red leaves is strangely unsettling.

“It’s so quiet.” You point out.

Sans hums. “Tori says it was quiet down here even before we left. It was just her, the spiders, and some Froggits. Peaceful, though. Now it’s just creepy.”

The little cottage is completely devoid of furniture. You feel especially small walking through its walls. Your footsteps resonate with each step you take, even with the comfortable athletic boots you’re both wearing. Sans looks around, curious. You’re reminded of the tale of how he came to be friends with Toriel. As you descend the stairs in the house, you whisper a quiet goodbye to the presence that has been following your every step.

“I’ve never actually seen the door to the Ruins from this direction. I imagine it’ll probably look the same, but I’m still excited, for some reason.” Sans admits, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s understandable. This door has been your best friend for quite some time.” You tease him. He playfully swats at your arm, rolling his eyes when you catch his hand and land a smacking wet kiss onto it. Though shaped like a skeleton, he is a monster first and foremost, and his hands are more like hand-shaped bone, fused smoothly together with ridges.

When you reach the door, Sans pauses to stare at it in a muted sort of awe. Then he rolls his shoulders, his backpack jingling with the movement.

“Alright,” he says, “Heeeeere we go.”

The both of you push on the door together.

\--

It feels strange to look up and see nothing but swirling darkness.  You’ve never been particularly claustrophobic, and the Underground’s ceiling isn’t low by any means, but you still feel strangely cramped.

“This was actually one of my… areas? Patrols? Whatever you call it. I was supposed to be on watch for humans, but who am I fuckin’ kidding, I’d usually be asleep. It took literal years for another human to fall down after the last. Right when you stopped counting, there they were! They never got very far, though.”

You shudder at the matter-of-fact tone his voice has taken on, the pensive look on his face.

“Did you ever see any, before Frisk?” You wonder. The two of you pause at a small sentry station. It’s a ramshackle little thing, covered in snow. You catch sight of a ketchup bottle resting on its table and realize with some delight that this must be Sans’. You point it out to him, and he scoffs at it.

“Yeah, two, actually. The first time, I was pretty young. Had just moved here and joined the royal guard. I was so shocked. He just ran on through, dressed like a boxer or something. Gloves, bandanas, the whole nine. The kid died messing around with some monsters in the forest. Scared out of his wits. Didn’t really understand what was going on.” Sans shoves his hands in his pockets, a faraway look on his face.

You shudder. The subject of the humans who had fallen before Frisk is something that is rarely spoken of, much to Toriel’s chagrin. It had been agreed that telling humans about them was unwise. It was a complicated, depressing mess, but the knowledge of what had happened would likely bring down the retribution of the government down on an entire race.

“And the second human?” You ask.

“A little ballerina girl. I saw her more than a few times.” Sans answers, shortly. At the tone of his voice, you reach out for his hand. He squeezes your hand, and you don’t ask any more questions.

You walk further onwards, not speaking for a while. Sans lets you take the lead, gently directing you when it looks like you’re about to go too far into the forest. You catch sight of a snowman, and briefly consider speaking to him, but with Frisk you can never tell what’s a joke and what isn’t and somehow speaking to a snowman is too ridiculous even for you to handle. You do feel like the snowman is watching you, though. 

 

Sans explains that once upon a time, this area was riddled with puzzles.

“But they were disabled after the barrier was broken. Good thing, too. I’m too lazy to do most of them and it’s best not to use my magic to skip them.” He snickers.

It’s not hard to imagine Frisk skating around the field of thick ice that you and Sans glide over, his hands firm on your waist to keep you steady. You whoop like a small child, stretching your arms wide. When you slide off into a field of snow you’re breathless and giggling, your cheeks windswept. You stumble for just a bit when the gliding stops, but quickly regain your balance, brushing your hair from your face.

“Havin’ fun?” He ventures, amused. You nod, muffling your laughter into your gloved hands.

It’s really easy to forget that you’re underground if you don’t look up and focus on the person that’s with you.

\--

Snowdin is an extremely cute town.

“Home sweet snow.” Sans deadpans.

“Sans. This is like something from a children’s book. It’s so cute. Oh my gosh!”

 

He shows you the little store, whose former owner you’ve met before. She looks at Sans and Papyrus with something like fond exasperation, and always makes delicious cinnamon buns shaped like rabbits. He shows you the houses of his neighbors, Grillby’s old bar (which still smells like food and has dog fur covering the seats), and the “Librarby”. You stop here, and Sans watches as you curiously skim the books that were left behind.

(“Wanna keep some of those?” He asks. “If they got left behind, they probably won’t be missed.”

“Yeah.” You say. The books glow with a light blue sheen and they’re gone.

“You sure you wanna keep using your magic like that? I could have put those in my backpack.”

“It’s okay, baby. Books are heavy.”)

Finally, you stop at the cottage he shared with Papyrus. Sans lets out a sighing, embarrassed laugh as he ushers you inside. You understand why when you step inside. It screams “Bachelor Pad”. You can’t help but stare at the unnaturally large tall sink in the kitchen. Your curious searches of the kitchen counters yield nothing but bones and notes written in Papyrus’ unfairly neat, all-caps handwriting, which all wax lyrical about his daily exploits. These you keep to show him later, and Sans just shakes his head when you ask about the bones.

 

The book in the living room is confusing. It is a book within a book within a book within a book.

“I meant to burn that.” Sans says, conversationally.

“It’s Satan bound in a paper spine.” You agree.

Sans gives you a fond look. “Hey, how about you keep looking around here? I want to check on something. I won’t go far.”

He gives you his version of a kiss (little more than a passing of his teeth over your lips) and trots out of the house.

You walk up the stairs, pausing to snort at an unnecessarily detailed painting of a bone. Papyrus. You wonder why he didn’t bring it with him. The boyish decorations on the door next to it must hold his room within. You enter and are very disappointed to find it devoid of much but a largely barren bookshelf and an ancient desktop computer. You haven’t seen one of those monsters since the early 2000s. It’s covered in dust, and your curious attempt to turn it on yields no results. The closet, predictably enough, has a bone in it. Before he moved in with Alphys and Undyne, it wasn’t uncommon to find bones littered around the house—for all that he despises clutter, he seems to forget his neatness when it comes to bones. You shake your head.

Eventually, you make your way out of Papyrus’ room and down the hallway. The door at the end of the hall is nondescript. As you’re reaching for the doorknob, you feel an abrupt sense of fear. Effectively spooked, you let your hand slowly fall back to your side.

When Sans materializes beside you, you let out a surprised cry.

“It’s okay, doll. This here is my room. It’s kind of a mess. I left most of my stuff behind. You didn’t go in yet, did you?” He asks, looking sheepish.

Wordlessly, you shake your head. You try to formulate a reply, and the only sound you can muster is a weak little thing, originating from your throat. He picks up on your change of mood right away. You assure him that you’re alright, and though he’s not convinced, he leaves you with a bottle of water before he walks inside. He’s out almost as fast as he enters, smelling of magic and ketchup, oddly enough.

“You know, you can tell me if you ever wanna leave. I know this must be strange for you. Just say the word and I can have you right back on the surface.” He says, softly.

Quickly, you say, “That won’t be happening. Moral support. Kisses. Hugs.”

He cups your cheek, and you smile reassuringly up at him.

You feel like a bad person for feeling relieved that he’s not going to make you stay if it gets to be too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last of the prewritten chapters, this! No telling when I can update this fic, but I do like it and it's very soothing to write. Please let me know what you think. I'm still a little unsure if I should continue.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted anything in literal ages because of some struggles with motivation. I've had this idea for a while, and though there's no telling when I can update it (because I am still struggling with motivation), I wanted to share this and get a feel for people's thoughts on it--to see if I should keep writing it, basically. So please tell me what you think!
> 
> There are a lot of things about the story that I wanted to be genuine surprises for people--I have the entire thing drafted, I just haven't written most of it--so I deliberately kept the tags limited. I promise there will be nothing overtly bad, like gore or noncon (which I don't write anyways).
> 
> Catch ya later!


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